Left Behind
by Clowns or Midgets
Summary: Dean: 'I wanted my brother, alive' What if Sam didn't come back wrong? What if he did tell his brother he was back, only to leave him behind anyway? — Post Swan Song AU


**I was watching Exile On Main Street and Dean's line 'What, did you lose the ability to send a friggin' text message?' got me thinking. What would he have done if Sam had told him he was back? After some conversation on the topic with Gredelina1 I decided that there was a story in this. Originally, I was to keep it close to canon with Sam being soulless, but then I realized that would steal all emotional impact from the story. So, this is the finished result: an ensouled Sam coming back and leaving his brother to have the life he thought he deserved.**

* * *

_**~ Left Behind ~**_

The first thing he was aware of was that he was too warm. That was wrong. The cage wasn't hot, despite the fact it was Hell. Lucifer burned cold, and the cage was his dominion. Also, the pain was absent. He waited for a time, eyes squeezed closed and his muscles tensed, as if that could counteract the searing agony he was sure to feel. But there was no pain; there was nothing but the heat on his back and a soft rustling sound. In spite of himself, Sam allowed his eyes to open and he found he was staring up into a bright sun and blue sky. The rustling was the wind in the long grass. For a moment, nothing made sense, but his mind presented him with the answer fast; he was out. Somehow, he'd got out.

He rolled onto his side and pushed himself to his feet. Freedom of movement was the most amazing sensation. For so long he'd been pinned in place as they hurt him, no choice but to stay and feel. Now his fingers bunched and flexed, relishing their freedom. He drew in a deep breath and exhaled in a laugh. It felt so good he did it again, louder and more powerful, great bellowing laughs that vibrated in his chest and made him feel like he was flying.

"Sam?"

The laughter died in his throat and he spun on his heel to face the speaker. Swallowing thickly, he took in the figure before him. He was dressed in his usual trenchcoat and suit, a confused expression in place. It was familiar and real but it couldn't be. He'd seen Castiel die; he'd watched, trapped inside his own body, as Lucifer had snapped his fingers and exploded Castiel into atoms. Reason caught up with him and he sighed. He was out, but he wasn't back.

"So, I'm in Heaven." It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact.

"No, you are in Kansas."

"Then what are you doing here? I saw you die."

Castiel smiled slightly. "I was returned. God brought me back. I was able to revive Bobby, too."

"Bobby's alive! What about…?" The question stuck in his throat. The last time he'd seen his brother he'd been sagging and bloodied from the beating Lucifer had given him using Sam's fists. He cleared his throat and asked the question he needed answering. "And Dean?"

"Dean is well. I was able to heal his injuries."

Sam exhaled a gust of relief. "Thank you."

Castiel continued as if he hadn't heard Sam's fervent thanks. "He is in Indiana."

A smile crept across Sam's lips. "With Lisa?"

At Castiel's nod, he huffed a laugh. It was more than he'd hoped for. He hadn't even been sure Dean had survived; to hear that he'd survived and was now living the life he deserved with Lisa was exhilarating. The heady exhilaration didn't last long though, as realization settled over him. What he wanted now, more than anything, was to see Dean again, but he couldn't. If he showed himself to Dean, it would be perfect; Dean would be relieved and Sam would be fulfilled and all would be good till it became time to leave. Dean wouldn't let Sam leave him behind, and Dean would leave Lisa and the life he'd longed for to be with Sam. It wasn't right. Dean had earned his apple-pie life.

He knew what he would have to do, though he was loathe to do it; he had to leave Dean behind. He couldn't go to him. It was painful to admit it, even to himself, but that was the only option open to him. Maybe in a few years, if he was still around, he would be able to see Dean again. By then, Dean would be settled in his new life; maybe he'd have children of his own. Sam would be able to see him then with evidence that he could survive in the world without Dean, and they could both have the life they needed and deserved.

"Cas," he said, "Can you do me a favor."

"Anything," Castiel vowed.

"Can you take me to Bobby's?"

Castiel's confusion was obvious. "You don't want to go to Dean?"

Sam shook his head. "No, I can't see Dean right now."

Castiel stared at him for a long moment in silence, and then he sighed heavily and nodded. "Very well."

* * *

Bobby slammed the book closed and rubbed at his tired eyes. He was coming down from an all-nighter of hard drinking, and he was worn down. It was his own fault, no one had poured the whiskey down his throat, but it was what he did these days when not actively hunting. It was easier to drown himself in alcohol than to face what had happened; he'd lost his boys. One of them was living the life he deserved with his woman and the other…

Well, he was gone, too.

It was easier to deal with the loss of Dean, as he knew he was in a good place now, but Sam, Sam was in Hell. He had gone there willingly, fighting every inch of the way to make it, to save the world. He was a hero, but that knowledge didn't exactly help Bobby. He just missed his son.

He heard a light tap on the door, so light he wondered if who was on the other side wanted to be heard at all, and he got to his feet and crossed the room. He smoothed down his shirt and adjusted the cap on his head, wanting to look at least semi-respectable to his caller instead of looking like he'd spent the night wallowing in misery. He opened the door, and when he did, he saw something that made his heart falter and then race as if he'd just run a marathon. He actually blinked twice before he realized what he was seeing wasn't a hallucination. He was wearing the same green jacket and blue shirt he'd been wearing the last time Bobby saw him, and his hair was falling into his eyes. It was Sam, and standing beside him was Castiel.

He wanted to believe it was really him, so much it was almost impossible to resist, but he had to know, he had to be sure. He reached for the knife he kept on the side table. As his hand clasped around the hilt of the blade, Castiel appeared at his side and plucked the blade out of his hand.

"You won't be needing that, Bobby," the angel said serenely. "It's Sam."

"Sam?" he said in a breathy voice.

Sam smiled slightly. "Yeah, Bobby, it's me."

Castiel stepped back and Bobby's hands dropped to his sides. "What…? How…? What…?"

Sam's smile widened. "Good questions. Can I come in?"

Bobby stepped back to allow Sam to enter, reaching out a hand to touch Sam's sleeve as he passed. He could feel the worn weave of the fabric and the firmness of Sam's arm beneath. That more than anything made him realize what he was seeing wasn't some trick of his mind, and he felt a lump form in his throat. He spun Sam around and dragged him into a hug. Sam let himself be moved, and he returned the embrace, patting Bobby's back. Over Sam's shoulder, Bobby saw Castiel smiled approvingly and then disappear with a light fluttering sound.

"Sam," Bobby said in a choked voice.

"Yeah," he said again, "it's me,"

Bobby released him and run a hand through his beard. "Damn, boy."

Sam nodded. "I know. Crazy, right?"

"But how did you get out?"

"Cas, apparently. He gave me a cliff notes version before he dropped me down here. Don't ask me how, but he got me out of there."

"Have you seen Dean?"

Sam rubbed at the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Not yet, no."

"Why do I get the feeling there's more that you're not telling me? You are going to see him, right?"

Sam sighed and moved to the couch. He sat down and braced his hands on his knees. "Cas told me Dean's with Lisa. I don't plan on ruining that for him."

"You've gotta tell him."

"C'mon, Bobby, if I go see him, what do you think will happen?"

Bobby didn't need to think hard to know what Sam was saying. Dean would drop everything, leave Lisa behind, to be with Sam again. They would be on the road, hunting and saving people, and nothing would have changed. Everything Bobby wanted for Dean would be lost. But the alternative was worse. Leaving Dean to believe his brother was still in Hell would be too cruel. Dean needed to know Sam was out at least.

"You gotta tell him, Sam."

Sam sat in silence for a moment, deep in thought, and then he nodded. "Okay. I'll let him know I'm back, but that's where it ends. I am not going to see him and I'll make damn sure he can't find me. He'll have no choice but to stay with Lisa."

Bobby nodded. He could accept that. As long as Dean knew the truth, the rest would be up to him. He had at least a chance at the normal life.

"You want me to tell him?" he asked.

"No, I'll need to do that myself. He's got to know it's what I really want. I'll send him a letter. I want to see him anyway."

"You just said…"

"I mean see but not be seen, Bobby. I just need to see him, to know he's really okay." He smiled slightly. "Any of the junkers roadworthy? I'm going to need some wheels."

"You can borrow the Chevelle." He looked up into Sam's eyes and saw sadness there. He understood then what Sam was saying. "You're not coming back, are you?"

"No, I'm not. Dean might come looking for me anyway, and I can't have him finding me."

He wasn't coming back. He would go and leave his letter for his brother and then he would disappear, hiding from Bobby, too. It wasn't what Bobby wanted, but he understood it. Sam needed to be alone now if Dean was to have a real chance at his happy ending.

"Okay, I got an old Dodge that'll do ya. Is there anything else I can do?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, you can do me a favor. If he comes looking, you can send him home again. Don't help him do anything but be with Lisa." He seemed to see Bobby's distaste for the idea and he railed on. "I know I'm asking too much when I've no right to ask for anything after what I've done, but—"

"None of that," Bobby said harshly. "You did what you did, sure, but then you saved the world. Slate's wiped clean, Sam."

Sam smiled slightly. "Thanks. I appreciate it." He got to his feet and picked up a pad of notepaper and a pen from the desk.

"What are you going to say to him?" Bobby asked.

Sam shrugged. "No idea."

* * *

Dean was lying on the bed, facing the wall and blinking lazily at the blandly decorated wall. He knew he should be up and moving already, he could hear Lisa and Ben talking in the kitchen, and the least he could do was act human long enough to see Ben to school and Lisa to work, but he laid still, doing his damndest not to think.

The room Lisa had offered him when he arrived on her doorstep was nice, cream walls and finished wood floors, but it had felt like a cage from the minute he first stepped inside. The whole house felt like a cage to him, a cage he longed to escape from, but duty to his brother kept him there in the form of a promise. He had told Sam he would go live an apple-pie life, so he was doing his damndest.

And there it was. Sam. He was thinking of his brother again despite the fact he was doing all he could to avoid it. It wasn't lack of care that had him trying to block the thoughts and memories, but survival instinct. It was too painful to think of him. Every time he did, it felt like he was going to split in two from the pain of it.

There was a soft tap on the door and he quickly scooted his way to the edge of the bed and pulled his boots over to him, as if he was in the process of getting ready for the day rather than wallowing in his grief. Lisa would probably see through it, she would see the wrinkles in the clothes he had been wearing for the last two days, too dejected to even play at being a functioning human, but she wouldn't say anything. She seemed to think that if she treated him as if he was whole, he would become that soon. He could have told her it was a futile hope, but he was worried that if she knew just how damaged he was, she would boot him out, and he needed to be here; he'd made a promise.

The door opened and Dean looked up in the process of tying his lace and forced his expression into something a little less worrying than abject misery.

"Dean…" she said softly, as if worried about waking him. "Oh, you're up."

Dean nodded. "Getting that way. You okay?"

"Yeah, I've got something for you."

If this was another book on dealing with bereavement, he was going to have to use a lot of self-restraint to keep him from setting light to it on the floor there and then. He understood that her attempts to help him deal were coming from a place of love and not malice, but he didn't want her interference. He didn't want some book telling him it would pass, and to cherish the memories of the one he had lost—he'd skimmed through the last when his own torturous thoughts had been tormenting him. Those books were full of crap. They were for people who'd died a natural, human death and had moved onto a better place—though whether Heaven was really a better place was up for debate. His brother hadn't gone to a better place. He'd gone to Hell. He was trapped there with two pissed off archangels that he was sure had nothing better to do that to vent their frustrations on his brother.

"Here," Lisa held out a white envelope and Dean took it. Only one person knew he'd taken residence here and he doubted Bobby would be writing to him. He tried to imagine Bobby's sitting at his old desk in the library, penning this missive, and shook his head. It was highly unlikely it was him. But if not him, then who?

He turned the envelope in his hands and his heart skipped a beat. He knew that handwriting. He would know it anywhere. He had seen it for a lifetime, jotted down on motel stationary with messages like,_ Gone out for breakfast. Back in fifteen._ That was Sam's writing.

He realized the envelope was trembling slightly and he made an effort to stop his shaking hands. For a moment, a whole wonderful moment, he thought this was a sign that Sam was back, and then reason caught up with him. Sam was gone; he wasn't writing messages for Dean anymore. He was in the cage. This had to be something he'd arranged before he took the dive. Some reminder from his brother of the promise he'd made—_You got to promise not to try to bring me back._ _You go live some normal, apple-pie life, Dean. Promise me._

It was so like Sam, morbidly like Sam, to cover his bases like this. The grief swept over him again and he swallowed the lump in his throat, wishing more than anything that Lisa would leave so he could release the stranglehold he had over his emotions.

"It was hand-delivered," Lisa said.

That made Dean sigh. Bobby must have made the trip to drop it off. He didn't know how he felt about Bobby doing that without calling in to see him at the same time. In a way, it was a relief, because seeing his own grief and pain reflected in Bobby's eyes was painful, but on the other hand, it would have been good to see him again. Lisa tried as hard as she could to understand, but she'd never really comprehended what it was he'd had with Sam, so she couldn't understand the loss now.

Dean looked up at her and tried to communicate his need for her to leave. He wanted to be alone to read this, as he knew he wasn't going to be able to control himself, and the less people there were to witness that outpouring of pain, the better for him.

"I'll see Ben out," she said. "You want a coffee?"

"Yeah, that'd be great. I'll be right out."

She clicked the door closed behind her and Dean sighed out a breath. He ran a hand over his face, trying to prepare himself to read. Part of him, a cowardly part, wanted to hide the letter away, to pretend he didn't get it until that day in the impossible future when he felt strong enough to read it. But that was weak, and Sam had been strong, so he tore the envelope, and pulled out the single sheet of paper.

Taking a deep breath, he began to read. As he read the first line, his breath whooshed out of him. His heart pounded so hard he could feel it echoing in his ears. His vision dimmed and for a moment, he thought he would pass out, such was his shock.

He laughed exultantly and a little shakily, feeling the wetness in his eyes and not caring. As his eyes reached the end of the short letter, his laughter faded and was replaced by incredulity. How could Sam ask that of him?

He lurched to his feet, making for the door and bellowing at the top of his lungs. "Lisa!" As his eyes raked the letter in his hands once again, random phrases jumped out at him.

_Dean, I'm back. _

She dashed into the hall, a dishcloth in her hands. "What is it?"

_Cas saved me. _

"When did this letter come?"

_I want you to keep your promise, Dean. _

"I don't know. Ben found it on the doorstep this morning when he woke up."

_Stay with Lisa. Live the life I know you want. _

"Did he see who delivered it?"

_Don't look for me. You won't be able to find me. _

"No, I don't think so."

_Your brother, Sam._

Dean crossed to the door and threw it open, almost expecting Sam to be standing on the doorstep, smile in place and hair flopping into his eyes. There was no one there though, and his heart sank to the region of his boots.

He stared up and down the street, knowing in his heart that he wouldn't see Sam there. He'd made it clear in his letter that he didn't want Dean to find him, and there was no way he would stay around waiting for Dean to come looking.

Lisa laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Dean, what is it?"

"Sam," Dean said in a whisper. "It's Sammy, he's back."

Her brow furrowed and he thought he could see the cogs turning in her mind, diagnosing his psychotic break. Part of him wondered if that was what was happening, yet the paper clasped in his hand showed him different. He had proof, paper and ink proof that his brother was alive.

A tear crept out of his careful control and slid down his cheek.

* * *

Six weeks ago, Dean drove away from Bobby's place with a feeling of grief so heavy it weighed him down physically. It was like driving with an anvil on his chest. Now, as he drove through the wrought iron arch proclaiming Singer's Salvage, he felt as light as air. Sam was back.

It was true he didn't know where he was and he didn't want to be found, but that wasn't going to stop Dean. He knew Sam better than anyone in the world; it would be easy to find him again. That was if Sam had left Bobby's already. He had a sneaking suspicion that Sam would still be there. He wasn't one for going it alone; he would want comfort and familiarity after everything he'd been through. Bobby was the closest thing to family they had outside of each other.

The Impala rumbled to a stop outside the service bay and Dean climbed out, listening to the frame creak as it settled. It was a good sound, the sound of home, and he'd missed it lately.

The door opened and Bobby came out onto the porch, looking exactly as he always did: grubby trucker cap on his head and layered shirts. As Dean stepped closer, he realized there was one difference. The last time he had seen Bobby, it had been a matter of hours after Sam had taken the dive, and Bobby's face had been harrowed by sadness, too. Now he looked mildly disappointed as he saw Dean approach.

"Awww, hell," he groaned.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Good to see you too, Bobby."

Bobby shook his head sadly and came down the steps to stand in front of Dean. He dragged him into a perfunctory hug and then stepped back again. "You got his letter then." He sighed. "And of course you came barreling back here."

"Um, yeah." Dean's tone stated that it was obvious. What else was he supposed to do?

"And Lisa?" Bobby asked.

"What about her?"

Bobby sighed heavily. "What about what you had with her?"

What he had with her… What he had was a place to bed down in her spare room and someone to stop him drinking himself to death every night of the week. He had something that could have developed into something more had he not been too consumed with his own troubles to try.

"What I had with her was nothing, Bobby. Sure, it could have been something one day, but I was too damn messed up to build anything with her. Hell, maybe I'd always have been too messed up. That doesn't matter now though. What matters is Sammy. Where is he?"

Bobby turned away and walked back into the house. Dean followed, hoping that Bobby was literally leading him to Sam. He was disappointed though. When he got inside there was no sign of his brother. Bobby walked through to the kitchen and pulled two glasses down from one of the cupboards. He poured them each a measure of whiskey and handed one to Dean.

"I don't know where he is," Bobby said heavily.

"You let him go!"

Bobby crossed his arms over his chest. "How was I supposed to stop him?"

Dean raked a hand through his short hair. He wasn't being fair. Bobby couldn't have physically stopped Sam without knocking him out—and now that he thought of it, that wasn't such a bad idea. "I'm sorry, Bobby," he said. "I know you tried."

Bobby's eyes drifted to the opposite wall and he looked shifty. Dean wondered for a moment and then a cool sense of realization settled over him. "You did try, right?" he asked.

"Not exactly, no."

"What do you mean not exactly?"

Bobby fixed him with a steely look. "Not exactly as in I agreed with him. I did my bit, I got him to tell you he was back, but I don't disagree with what he chose. You had something, Dean. You could have it still. Sam knew that him coming back craps all over that. You think you need to be with him, but Sam disagrees and so do I. You'd have been better off with Lisa."

"Better off! Bobby, I was a wreck when I landed on their doorstep and I didn't exactly improve over time. Hell, I was screwed from the moment Sam took that dive and no amount of time was going to change that."

Bobby tugged off his cap and ran a hand through his hair, thinking hard. Eventually he spoke in a defeated tone. "Maybe you're right. But I just… I wanted it for you, Dean. And so did Sam. You were supposed to get out."

Dean shook his head tiredly. "I guess this just proves it. There is not getting out of it for us."

Bobby took a slow drink of his whiskey. "What are you going to do now?"

"What do you think? I'm going to find my damn brother."

* * *

The call from Sam had come hours ago, informing Castiel that he was taking a hunt in Kansas. He would have liked to have gone to him as soon as he got the call, but matters of Heaven and his meeting with Rachel overpowered his need to check on Sam, so he'd stayed. It was past dawn by the time he was at liberty to check in on the young hunter, and he was not in the motel he'd told Castiel about. It wasn't difficult to search the small town Sam had been in, and he quickly found him in a ramshackle barn on the edge of an abandoned farm. His relief at finding him was quickly eclipsed by fear for the position Sam was in: pinned to the wall by a vampire who was leaning in, fangs bared, to Sam's neck. On the dirty floor of the barn were the corpses of three decapitated vampires.

Sam's eyes met Castiel's over the shoulder of the vampire, and Castiel saw the relief in his eyes. Castiel gripped the vampire's head in his hands and allowed his grace to pour out into the vampire's body. White light flooded from its eyes and mouth, and Sam squeezed his eyes shut. As Castiel released his hold on its head, the vampire dropped to the ground with a meaty thud.

"Thanks, Cas," Sam said, stepping away from the wall and massaging his throat. "Appreciate it."

Castiel took in the sight of the hunter, with his blood spattered face and clothes. "What happened?" he asked.

"I got the jump on the first three, but the last came out of nowhere. I lost my knife, and… well, you saw the rest."

"You are going to get yourself killed," Castiel chastised.

Sam bent and picked up his machete from the floor and wiped the bloodied blade with a corner of his ruined shirt and then slid it into a sheaf secured at his waist. He didn't answer, and that made Castiel's ire increase.

"Sam! Why didn't you wait for me?"

Sam turned and Castiel recognized his mulish expression. It was the Winchester special – 'I don't need anyone' – usually favored by Dean but at times utilized by Sam. Since his return from hell and subsequent abandonment of his brother, Sam had been sporting it more and more.

"I didn't know when you would be free to come, Cas," he said. "And every day those vampires lived, another person died. I had to stop it."

Castiel shook his head. Sam had been difficult these past few months. He had hoped, when he took Sam to Bobby's house, that the older hunter would talk him out of his plan to essentially abandon his brother. It had failed though, as not a month later, Castiel heard a prayer from Sam that spoke of desperation; he'd arrived to find Sam about to be filleted by his own knife in the hands of a demon. After Castiel had killed the demon, Sam had confessed that he had gone through with his plan to leave Dean with Lisa, and he had even added Bobby to the list of people who must be evaded. Sam had been hunting alone now for three months, only accepting aid from Castiel when he was able to spare the time.

Sam began to pile the bodies, ready to burn the remains, and Castiel heard his hiss of pain. He didn't bother to ask whether Sam was okay, he just gripped his shoulders and spun him around to face him. On the shoulder and sleeve of Sam's shirt a deep red stain was forming. The scent of blood was thick in the air. Castiel tore the fabric apart, baring the deep cut to the light.

"Sam." He sighed. "Why didn't you tell me you were injured?"

"It's not so bad," Sam said. "The vamp that got me was screwing around with my machete, that's all. I can stitch it up when I get back to the motel."

Castiel shook his head solemnly. The injury was not yet mortal, but Sam couldn't stand to lose too much more blood. It was the way Sam denied the wound that bothered Castiel. He seemed to have no concern for his own welfare anymore. There had been many hunts like this, when Castiel had arrived in time to save him, and more times that he'd arrived in Sam's motel room to find him tending to an injury. And Sam didn't seem to care. He was treating his life, such a fragile thing, as if it was of no real concern to him.

Castiel thought again, as he had many times before, that Sam should never have been allowed to be alone. For the first time though, certainty settled over him and he knew what he would have to do.

He reached out and laid a hand over the injury to Sam's shoulder, allowing his grace to flow through to the wound, healing Sam, and then he spoke firmly. "Finish your business here, and then go back to your motel. I will be there presently."

Sam raised an eyebrow at the instruction, but he didn't argue. He merely retrieved his duffel from the corner and proceeded to douse the vampire corpses with gasoline from a red can. Satisfied that he would obey, Castiel spread his wings and took flight.

* * *

Bobby was on the phone as Dean came into the kitchen and he waited silently as Bobby finished his conversation.

"Thanks, Rufus, we appreciate it. We'll let you know if it turns into anything."

He set the phone back on its cradle and turned to Dean who asked, "Has he seen him?"

Bobby shook his head. "He got word on a vamp hunt in Kansas though. Might be something Sam would go after."

Dean sighed and sank down onto the chair, leaning his elbows on the table. "What makes this any different from the ghost hunt I've just come off? We thought Sam might be there, too, but we were wrong. What makes it different from any other hunt we've taken lately?"

Bobby moved to the counter and poured Dean a mug of coffee. "Nothing, I guess. It's all we got through. No one's seen him and we've got no other idea of how to find him.

Dean groaned. They were all out of leads, and the only thing they had that was remotely related to a plan was to track down hopeful hunts and pray that Sam would one day choose the same one. They had every other hunter they knew looking out for Sam on the road, but no one had seen him. The only being that had a chance of finding him for them, Castiel, wasn't answering their calls. It was as it Sam had disappeared off the face of the earth.

"Okay, give me twenty minutes to shower and change and I'll get there."

Bobby nodded approvingly and adjusted his cap. "I'll come with. Even if Sam's not there, you don't want to go after a nest on your own."

Dean got to his feet and made for the stairs, only to halt abruptly as he heard the familiar rustling sound and a dry voice. "Hello, Dean."

"Cas!" Dean spun on his heel and gaped at the angel. "Where the hell have you been? Did you even hear us calling?"

Castiel bowed his head. "I heard, but I did not see what assistance I could have been in your search, so I didn't answer."

"What assistance!" Dean snapped. "You could have helped us look. We had the whole damn country to comb for him. You could have helped, dammit!" Dean took a deep breath, ready to continue his diatribe, but Castiel spoke first.

"I know where Sam is."

"You what?" Dean snapped.

"He is in Kansas."

Dean sighed out a sharp breath of relief. Sam was in Kansas. Finally, after three months of searching, they had something resembling a location for him. Then a question occurred to him, and he spoke through gritted teeth. "How long have you been following him, hiding from us?"

"Since his return," Castiel said. "I have been keeping regular contact with him, assisting him with his hunts and monitoring his safety."

"And you didn't tell us… Why?" Bobby asked, unconcealed ire in his tone.

"I believe Sam had the right to choose who he revealed himself to. He undertook the cage willingly for our sakes, and for that, I felt I owed him. We all did."

Dean shook his head. It was Castiel's special brand of Heaven logic that'd had him and Bobby chasing their tails for the last three months. It was true they did owe Sam, but what he deserved was to have someone to look out for him. God only knew what trouble he'd got himself into alone.

"You should have told us, Cas," he said stiffly.

"I am telling you now."

"What made you change your mind?" Bobby asked. "You obviously weren't doubting your decision yesterday when Dean called you for the umpteenth time, so why come now?"

Castiel sighed. "Sam was injured tonight, an injury—"

"Is he okay?" Dean asked quickly.

"I healed him, but I believe the injury could have been avoided if he had someone helping him. It's more than that though. Sam is treating his life with cavalier recklessness. I don't think he is equipped to spend a long time alone—"he locked eyes with Dean—"apart from you."

Dean could have told Castiel that months ago if the damn angel had been around to listen. Sam needed someone to keep an eye on him. The last time he'd been left alone, he'd been easy prey for Ruby, and that hadn't exactly ended well.

Sam might have wanted to be alone, but what he needed was Dean with him. Dean had known that, which is why he'd spent the last months searching for him. It wasn't just that he needed to see his brother again; it was that he knew Sam needed him, too.

"Take me to him," he said.

Castiel nodded and turned to Bobby. "Are you going to come?"

"Nah, I'll let the boys have their minute. They'll come right back here anyway, won't you." It was not a request, it was a command, and Dean nodded his agreement.

He turned to Castiel and waited impatiently for him to get them to Sam. Castiel nodded to himself, seeming to confirm his choice, and then they were moving.

They came to a small, grungy room, with puke green wallpaper and mustard carpet, dotted with stains. It wasn't the worst place Dean had ever been in, but it was still a pretty gross place to sleep.

Sam was bent over his duffel, pulling out a clean shirt. He didn't turn as they arrived, but he spoke. "You took your time. Whatever it is will have to be quick, as I think there's a rugaru in Des Moines that I want to get to."

Castiel cleared his throat and Sam looked up. Dean saw the play of emotions flicker across his face: shock, worry, anger, and finally his 'busted' face. There was no happiness there, no relief, and that pissed Dean off. After searching for his brother for months, he expected a better reunion that this.

"Cas," Sam said coldly. "What did you do?"

"I did what I must," Castiel said serenely. "I did what was needed to keep you safe."

Sam straightened and Dean saw the heavy bloodstain on his shirt and the ragged tear in the fabric. Without thought, he stepped forward and pulled the fabric apart. There was no wound he could see, and he knew Castiel had healed him, but the sight of that much blood staining his brother, knowing how bad the injury must have been, made Dean's heart pound.

Sam pushed his hands away. "Get off. I'm fine."

It was the careless way he was talking that made Dean's anger ratchet up another level, and he shoved at Sam, forcing him back a few steps.

"What the hell, Sam! Three months! You left me hanging for three months, and you couldn't even be bothered to put in a call to let me know you were okay!"

Sam stiffened. "I told you I was back, and I told you I wasn't going to be found. I couldn't have made it any clearer if I'd used a loudspeaker."

"Yeah, you told me you were back, but according to Bobby you weren't even going to do that till you saw him. Meanwhile, you've been hiding from us, hunting alone, and according to Cas getting yourself hurt. Me and Bobby have been going out of our heads looking for you."

Sam spoke through gritted teeth. "Bobby was helping you? He promised he wouldn't." He huffed a laugh. "Just like you promised you'd go to Lisa."

"I did go to Lisa," Dean snapped. "I was there six weeks, screwing with her head and her son's. Do you really think I was in any shape to be around a child after what happened to you? But I did it because I promised you."

Castiel had been watching their exchange like a spectator at a tennis match, but now he cleared his throat, drawing their gaze to him. "I am required in Heaven. I will return as soon as I can."

Sam waved a careless hand at him, obviously still pissed, and Dean nodded. "Thanks, Cas."

There was a light fluttering sound and Castiel was gone. With his departure, Sam's fury seemed to leave, too. He sagged while standing and rubbed his hands across his face. "Dammit, Dean," he groaned.

"Why'd you have to do it, Sam?" Dean asked in a low voice. "Why'd you have to hide?"

That was the question he needed answering. He wanted to know whether Sam was just being his usual stubborn ass self when he hid from Dean or if he just didn't care anymore.

"Because you deserved better. I owed you, and I knew you wanted Lisa, so I did what I had to do to make that happen." He sighed. "I wanted you to get what you wanted for once."

Dean huffed a laugh. What he wanted was his brother, alive. He'd got that much, and then he'd been denied his company for months because Sam thought he was doing the right thing. It was dumb. Sam should have known better. The last three months had been a nightmare of frustration as they chased down leads for Sam, taking hunts hoping they'd see him again.

"I didn't want this," Dean said, and there was no anger in his voice now. There was just tiredness and relief. "I wanted you back."

Sam shook his head, staring down at the floor. "I guess I messed up."

"Yeah, you did. It's okay though. As long as you don't go disappearing again." He shoved Sam's shoulder gently, and Sam smiled. Then, as one, they stepped forward and caught each other in a tight embrace,

For the first time since he'd read the letter, Dean felt a wave of happiness so intense it made his grip tighten on Sam to hold him up. Sam was back.

As they broke apart, Dean gripped Sam's shoulders and stared into Sam's eyes. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"You go disappearing on me again, I'll kick your ass."

Sam grinned. "Noted. What are we going to do now?"

Dean knew he was speaking in the larger sense, encompassing their future as well as their present, but he didn't know what they were going to do next. Did Sam want to hunt together or did he prefer doing it alone? Would he try to make Dean go back to Lisa? Not knowing was hard, but facing the truth too soon was worse, so he pretended he didn't know what Sam was saying.

"Now, we go back to Bobby's. I'm not the only one that wants to kick your ass."

Sam laughed lightly. "Okay, let's get gone."

* * *

**A got a PM a while ago with a prompt for a story that the reader wanted written. I am working on that plot now and it got me thinking. How many of you have stories that are waiting to be written but haven't got off the launch pad for one reason or another? Are there any of you that want to pass on a prompt to me? I am open to all ideas so stick your idea into a PM or review and I'll see what I can do for you. **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


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